Beyond the Veil of Madness

Shadows

My phone began ringing, and a wave of dread washed over me when I saw it was Anton. *Great,* I thought, *just what I need right now—to be confronted with more bullshit.* Reluctantly, I answered.

“Hey babe,” he started, his voice strained. “I just wanted to apologize for posting that video. It was wrong and hurtful. I deleted it.” He rushed his words out before I had a chance to respond, as if he was afraid of what I might say.

Anger rose within me, but I forced myself to respond calmly. “Thank you for your apology; I’m glad you deleted it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he continued. “I was angry. I thought you were faking it so you wouldn’t have to cook.” *Seriously?* Who would fake something like that?

“No, I would never fake something like that to get out of doing something for you,” I replied, my irritation creeping into my voice. “But hey, can we talk about something?” I steeled myself for what I had to confront him about regarding the condom I had found.

But before I could dive into it, he interrupted. “Hey hun, I have to go. Boss is bearing down on us. I won’t be home until late tonight. Do you think you could make me supper since you weren’t able to last night?” His words rushed out as if he were already halfway out the door.

“I guess,” I sighed, feeling the frustration creep back in. “Alright, love you, bye.” He hung up before I could say anything more. Once again, I felt invalidated and ignored, a dull ache settling in my chest. Something within me snapped. I was going to confront him tonight in a way he would never forget.

I quickly called Mallory. “Hey Mal, if I gave you some gas money, could you take me to the store? I need to get some groceries…”

She messaged me back almost immediately, “Yeah, sure! I need to go to the store anyway; I’ll be right there.”

I hurried to get dressed, grabbing my favorite shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. The cold air outside pressed against my skin, reminding me that I needed to bundle up. As I changed out of my PJs, my blood ran cold when I caught a glimpse of my arms in the mirror. It wasn’t just my arm that was bruised; my entire body was riddled with marks—bruises in various stages of healing covered my skin, and my legs were littered with cuts and scrapes.

This was the first time I had truly looked at myself in the mirror in a long time. My skin clung painfully to my bones, its pallor accentuated by dark spots. My eyes were sunken deep into my face, dark circles casting shadows that only emphasized my exhaustion. My cheekbones jutted out further than I remembered, a stark reminder of how little care I had taken of myself lately. No wonder the cops were worried; I looked like I had stepped out of a horror movie.

I normally didn’t wear makeup, but if Mallory saw me like this, she’d freak out and berate me for not taking care of myself. So, I reached for some concealer and foundation, trying to make myself appear a little more alive, or at least less like a ghost.

As I finished up, a text from Mallory popped up on my phone: “I’m outside.”

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for what lay ahead. Tonight, I would confront Anton. I would no longer allow him to belittle me or invalidate my struggles. No more hiding; it was time to take control, both of my life and my narrative. I grabbed my wallet, shoved it into my pocket, and headed toward the door, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and resolve.

I jumped into the passenger seat of Mallory's car, greeted with an enthusiastic chorus of “Hey, Aunt Adahlia!” from the kids in the back. My heart swelled with warmth as I turned to face them, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “I missed you guys!” I said, filled with love and compassion. They were my joy in this world, a reminder of innocence and happiness that I couldn’t bring into my own life. I often thought about the risk of passing on my mental health issues—genetic questions that loomed over any desire I had to be a mother.

Mallory often reminded me that her kids were like my own, and I appreciated that sentiment more than I could say, but I knew where my boundaries lay.

“I noticed he took the video down, thank God,” she said, pulling away from the curb.

“Yeah, I’m grateful; he could’ve done it a bit sooner, though. I had the cops come check on me today.”

“Are you serious?” Her voice cracked with concern.

“As a heart attack, I’m afraid.”

One of the kids let out a squeal as their favorite song blasted through the speakers, and Mallory quickly turned it up louder. The car erupted in joyful, goofy singing, and for that moment, I felt like a person again. I hated that I sometimes got so irritated at Mallory for her complaints, but right now, I needed this lightness.

When we finally arrived at the store, I broke off from the kids, who begged for candy and toys while Mallory pulled them toward the aisle. I had a mission: to make Anton his favorite dinner tonight—Pyttipanna. But this time, there would be a special ingredient. I was done letting him walk all over me.

As I navigated the store, I spotted a carton of eggs on the shelf. Just as I picked it up, a sharp voice whispered in my ear: “Please help me.” The sound startled me so badly that I dropped the carton, watching as it cracked open and its contents spilled across the floor.

I spun around, but there was nothing behind me—nothing at all. Just the hum of the fluorescent lights and the bustle of the store. When I turned back, though, my breath hitched in my throat. Standing just a few feet away was a little girl. She was soaking wet in a child’s nighty, her skin waterlogged and her eyes a lifeless gray. She looked like something pulled from a nightmare.

Panic surged through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, counting to ten in an attempt to steady my racing heart. When I opened my eyes again, she was still there, frozen in an eternal moment of despair. Desperately, I pulled out my phone, feeling the urge to capture her—a reminder of this moment, this fear. I snapped three quick pictures, the camera shutter clicking in a futile effort to grasp the ungraspable. Just as I raised the phone for a fourth shot, she vanished into thin air.

I released a shaky breath, trying to shake off the dread that had settled in my chest. I picked up another carton of eggs, my hands trembling slightly, as I worked to clean up the mess I had made on the floor. The fragmented pieces of eggshell felt like a metaphor for my life—as fragile and easy to break apart as the shattered remnants now lying at my feet.

After gathering my composure, I put my phone back in my purse and made my way to the checkout. As I waited in line, I replayed the encounter in my mind, the image of the little girl haunting me. Was she a figment of my imagination, a reflection of my chaotic mind? Or was there something deeper at play?

As the cashier rang up my items, I forced a smile, struggling to shake off the creeping sense of unease. This evening was supposed to empower me, but the weight of that little girl’s sorrow clung to me like a second skin. Soon, I would face Anton and everything would change, but first, I had to manage the shadows that loomed inside.

With a sigh, I paid for my groceries, borrowing strength from the kids’ laughter echoing in my ears. I locked that moment away, for later when I’d unravel all the tangled threads of fear and resolve. For now, I had a dinner to prepare and a confrontation to face.